Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Nope. Is that the show about the serial killer who’s a cop?”
“Blood spatter analyst, but yeah. I’ve not seen it, but I’ve heard it’s amazing. I’ve wanted to watch it for a while, but I’ve been too chicken to watch it alone,” I admit on a laugh.
“Okay, put it on. We’ll watch the first episode and see if it’s any good.”
“You want anything to eat before I put it on?”
“Whatcha got?”
“Chips, um…some cookies, I think. Oh, and ice cream.”
He looks at me. “Chips are good.”
I push out of my chair and head into the kitchen. I grab the two bags of chips that I have in my cupboard.
“Which do you want?” I ask him, holding them up for him to see. “Cheetos original or Doritos Nacho Cheese?”
“Doritos.”
“Good. ’Cause I want the Cheetos.”
“I could change my mind.”
“Too late.” I toss the bag of Doritos to him, and he chuckles.
I sit down in my chair and press play on Dexter.
“How many seasons are there of this?” Ares asks as I open my bag of chips.
“Um…eight, I think.”
“Fuck. That’s a lot of TV.” He laughs.
“Don’t worry; I’ll only make you endure this first episode.”
He glances over at me, giving me a steady look. “I’m not worried.” His voice is deep and sure.
I try to ignore the shiver I feel and fail miserably.
We don’t speak for the whole episode, both too engrossed. When the pilot ends, we both look at each other, wide-eyed, and Ares tells me to put on the next episode.
Before I do, I go for a bathroom break and grab us both a couple of sodas on the way back to the living room.
I grab the blanket I have from the back of the chair and cover myself with it before putting on the next episode.
We’re on the fourth episode, and I can feel my eyes getting heavy with sleep when I glance over at Ares and realize that he’s asleep.
He’s slouched down, head tipped back on the top of my sofa, long legs sprawled out on the floor. It does not look comfortable at all.
I look at him for a moment. He looks so much younger in sleep. Face relaxed. Dark lashes shadowing his cheekbones. His hair falling onto his forehead. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.
I turn the TV off midway through the episode and push my blanket aside, climbing off my chair.
“Ares?” I say softly.
“Mmhmm?” he mumbles.
“You’ve fallen asleep.”
He makes a sleepy sound. It’s actually pretty cute.
“If you’re tired…you can stay here, if you want?” I bite my lip.
“’Kay…” he mutters, eyes still closed.
I grab the blanket off my chair, and when I turn back to him, he’s shifted. Head on the arm of the sofa, long legs dangling off the other end, and he’s already snoring lightly.
I smile and then cover him with my blanket.
I make sure the front door is locked and put the chain on. I flick the light off and then head into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
When I’m done, I get changed into my pajamas and then climb into my bed, content in the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, I’m not alone.
I wake to the sound of someone inside my apartment, and my heart stills.
Shit.
Then, I remember that Ares crashed on the sofa last night, and I relax.
I reach over to my phone and check the time. Half past six.
A smile tugs at my lips. I slept right through the night.
I haven’t done that since before I was sober.
I guess having Ares in my apartment helped.
I clamber out of bed to go see him. I open my bedroom door and step into my little hall, and Ares is there.
Inside my hallway closet, which is filled with my paintings.
And he’s looking at them.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder at me.
And he doesn’t look guilty at being caught.
Asshat.
His clothes are wrinkled from sleep. His hair is all mussed up. His eyes are bright. And I would be thinking about how handsome he looks right now if I hadn’t just caught him snooping through my paintings.
“I thought it was just a hobby?” he says.
“I thought it was none of your business,” I throw back at him.
He laughs a deep, rumbling sound that affects me in a way I don’t want to examine right now.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop through people’s things?” I place my hand on my hip, and my oversize bed tee slips off my shoulder.
He turns, holding one of my paintings in his hand, and I see his eyes go to the bare skin there. Scorching hot, they trail over my chest, and then they move up to my face.
A burst of heat explodes inside me, like he’s just lit me.
“Technically, it wasn’t snooping. It was an accidental discovery,” he says.